THOUGH Randy Ledger was mangled beyond recognition in the Alfred P. Murrah building, he considers April 19, 1995 to be the best day of his life.

“Before that day, I was a miserable man,” he tells The Post. “I was agnostic, cynical, hard-boiled and critical. I was alone in the world.

“Since, I’ve realized how lucky I am. I’ve married an absolutely beautiful woman. Now, I have wonderful children, grandchildren, an 18-year-old foster son and I’ve never been happier in my life. I’m truly thankful for that day.”

Ledger, a maintenance worker, was on the first floor of the building filling out an application for a well-deserved promotion when suddenly everything faded to black.

“I remember thinking that we had some electrical work going on inside the hallway and I thought to myself, ‘I’m being electrocuted.”

He was unaware that the nine-story building had crumbled around him, and that his jugular vein and carotid artery were severed by a five-inch-thick shard of glass.

The left side of his face was “filleted” and peeled back behind his ear, exposing his cheek bone. He lost consciousness.

When he came to, his face was pinned under the rubble by a thousand-pound weight. Minutes later, he heard the words that, to this day, still give him pause: “Buddy, hang on. We’ve got you.”

Blinded by blood in his eyes, he didn’t feel any pain until he was finally extracted. The next thought that flashed through his mind was one of horror: “What about the children?”

About 20 minutes before the explosion, Ledger had been watching a little girl named Bailee Almon crawl around on the floor of the daycare center. She was about to become the symbol of the child casualties.

Bailee was the mangled little girl photographed in the arms of a firefighter, who died minutes after the photo was snapped.

It took years of plastic surgeries to repair his heavily scarred face and neck, but Ledger says he’s forgiven the man who nearly took his life.